Finally finished amazing weedy seedy shady bed. I can't believe now that I was ever moaning about weeds before. This bloody thing wasn't just weedy, it was a perennial weed convention. The only things missing were the alcohol and the nametags. How does an eight foot root get in a six foot by four foot bed? And that was where I was so carefully nursing my seedlings (bindweed). No wonder the poor little sods didn't grow. Well, the bindweed did.

Realised three quarters of the way through that half what I was pulling out belonged to the apple tree. Not enjoying creaking noises from above.

Have begun another bed, for hunions, which are languishing at the post office because I was too hungover, again, to go and get my bike this morning. Stayed up late drinking beer and looking at cactus photos. Honest to god. This bed is also incredibly weedy which I don't really understand as the others I've dug have been OK. Or maybe I was weedblind? And now I can see them, like the way people say that if you're trying for a kid everyone's pregnant. Not my best analogy.

Pulled a bit of plastic off to rough dig another bed and there is nothing on it but bindweed. How? Not another weed to be seen. And yet the bits I've left uncovered have hardly any bindweed; mostly what I'm fervently praying is the rye grass I sowed. I can't imagine it's been crowded out; judging by these last two beds it's a bloody miracle anthing else gets a look in. Apart from the crouch, of course, with which my paths are riddled. Note good grammar. I am proud of my small successes.

Should go up tonight but it's just beginning to rain. Yay! Crap TV and Horlicks for me.